


La Petite Mort

by windychimes



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windychimes/pseuds/windychimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blood, Ryuunosuke thinks, is the most beautiful thing on earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Petite Mort

Blood, Ryuunosuke thinks, is the most beautiful thing on earth. It’s so abundant, so vivid, so delightfully red—every living creature is filled with it and that’s wonderful. It’s beautiful. It’s _cool_.

Sir Bluebeard’s fingers are in his hair and his mouth is on his neck. Little pricks of his nails, little pricks of his teeth. If Sir bites harder, will he bleed? Scratches him harder, grips him harder, moves against him harder? Would his own blood be just as beautiful as the blood of his victims? He wonders, he wonders, and maybe sometime he’ll see. Maybe sometime.

Sir is long and spindly but his lanky limbs cover Ryuunosuke so well. It’s rather like being covered by a spider, but so much better. His body is all angles and corners and he’s an odd looking fellow, but something about him is beautiful. Beautiful like blood, beautiful like death. That curl of excitement in his stomach when a child’s eyes open wide in fear, when they realize no one will come and save them—being with Sir is like that. It’s that same strum of energy through his veins, that same shining enthusiasm. _La petite mort_ is what the French call the orgasm, Sir has told him. The little death. It’s fitting, he thinks. Pleasure and death, they’re both the same. And when Sir closes his eyes and tilts his head back and that little whimper of need catches in his throat— _la petite mort_ is the only thing Ryuunosuke thinks can describe it. It’s beautiful.

Beautiful like blood, beautiful like death.

He thinks, when they die, he’d like it to be by their own hands. Would Sir look as beautiful on the inside as their victims do? Would his organs pulse so wonderfully, would his blood be a bright splash of red? It’d be better than of their victims, Ryuunosuke’s sure. Just from being a part of Sir it would be better. The organs are the most intimate part of a person, Ryuunosuke thinks. It’s something no one can see, not even yourself. To share that with Sir Bluebeard would be the greatest honor. No one else would appreciate it. Yes, that’s how Ryuunosuke would like to die. It’d be the most beautiful way to go.

Beautiful like blood, beautiful like death.

Sir’s breath is hot and heavy in his ear and Ryuunosuke shivers when his tongue wipes across his cheek. When Sir kisses him the metallic tang of blood fills his mouth and he runs his fingers through his hair, spreading the blood around even more. The floor of their hideout is cold and hard but nowhere else would they be able to share such an intimate moment with so much of that beautiful, bright blood around them. They roll in it, paint each other in it, writhe and moan into it until they’re streaked head-to-toe with it. It’s mostly dried and caked right now but Ryuunosuke doesn't mind; blood is just as beautiful old as it is fresh. Right now he can’t even focus on the blood—the only thing in his world right now is Sir, his beautiful Sir. Beautiful like blood, beautiful like death. And even more is that perfect roll of his hips, their bodies pressed so tight together, that tingling feeling of pleasure that starts in his toes and goes straight up to his stomach. He just needs one, two more seconds and—

_La petite mort_. Ryuunosuke’s body shakes and shudders beneath Bluebeard’s and for a moment it almost feels as good as killing. His body is heavy and tired and when Bluebeard comes a hair’s breadth later all Ryuunosuke can do is hum in satisfaction. A slow satisfaction creeps into his bones and he lazily wraps an arm around his Sir. They’re both sticky and tired but moving right now seems like such a bother. Holding Sir Bluebeard close, covered in blood… it’s good. It’s beautiful. Beautiful like blood, beautiful like death.

It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.


End file.
